


flying through the freefall

by nightwideopen



Category: Marvel
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Bucky hates flying, Canon - Comics, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28247949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: “Did you seriously just ask me if I know how to fly?”“You know that’s not what I asked.”“That actually sounds a lot like what you asked.”“I KNOW YOU KNOW HOW TO FLY!” Bucky grips the co-pilot chair hard enough that it creaks under his metal hand. “BUT WINGS AND QUINJETS AREN’T THE SAME THING!”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 101





	flying through the freefall

**Author's Note:**

> using freefall in the title of a fic where clint doesn't appear? i'm terrible i know. anyway i just wrote this in a couple of hours to break the writer's block. it's sweet. it was supposed to be something else but i messed up. so here's this instead. for all my sambuckies out there. all mistakes are mine. enjoy.
> 
> title from Red by Taylor Swift

“Are you sure you know how to fly this thing?”

Bucky knows he probably sounds patronizing but he’s really just nervous because he fucking hates flying. He’s always hated it. He’s hated it more ever since his shirtsleeve got caught in a bomb-slash-rocket, flew away, then exploded, blew his arm off, and left him in the ocean to be found by insane scientists who– Well. You know the story. Short version: the way that Sam is weaving the quinjet they’re in back and forth like it’s the goddamn _Millenium Falcon_ or something is making Bucky more than a little nauseous.

Sam manages to sigh loud enough for Bucky to hear over the roar of the engine and the gunshots being fired at them. It’s impressive. 

“Did you seriously just ask me if I know how to fly?”

“You know that’s not what I asked.”

“That actually sounds a lot like what you asked.”

“I KNOW YOU KNOW HOW TO FLY!” Bucky grips the co-pilot chair hard enough that it creaks under his metal hand. “BUT WINGS AND QUINJETS AREN’T THE SAME THING!”

“Just be happy it’s not a helicopter.”

“Wha–?”

Bucky doesn’t get to ask _what the fuck does that mean_ before Sam is sending the quinjet into a series of barrel-rolls and high-risk maneuvers that should never be executed in real life. He then realizes belatedly that he _never fucking strapped himself in_ and he goes flying out of his seat and into the ceiling. Then he lands on his stomach on the floor, getting the wind knocked out of him. He desperately tries to grab onto something, anything. He narrowly misses the back of the chair, and goes sliding to the back of the quinjet, cartoonishly slamming his back against the weapons rack. 

“Oh, _fuck_.”

“Sorry!”

Sam doesn’t sound very sorry as Bucky groans and the quinjet settles. He slumps over to his chair and begrudgingly fastens his seatbelt. He hates this mission. And flying. Did he mention that he hates flying?

Sam looks over at him, an amused smirk playing at his lips. “You’d think with all that paranoia about my flying you would’ve buckled in.”

Bucky crosses his arms, scowling at the windshield of the jet. “Fuck you.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, man.”

Bucky’s too busy pouting to notice the silence, but when he does, he whips around to look out the window. He doesn’t see any enemy planes, no one shooting at them, no one on the ground. It’s just desert and cacti, open air and clear skies all the way around. 

“Did we lose them?” Bucky asks dumbly.

Sam turns with a curious expression. “We?”

“Jesus–” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fine. Did _you_ lose them? O’master of the skies? Did you singlehandedly lose all the bad guys you fuckin’ _sky wizard?_ ” He quirks an eyebrow at Sam that hopefully communicates his sarcastic _happy now?_

But rather than offended, Sam looks pleased. “Yes, as a master of fact, I _did_. So now we’re gonna find somewhere to land this damn thing and make our way to that base so we can–”

Sam gets cut off as the whole quinjet jerks. It feels like an explosion, sounds like an explosion, so it probably is. Bucky spares a look at the controls on the dash, and a bunch of things start beeping all at once. Maybe it would be fine if Sam didn’t look so panicked. Or if Bucky didn’t _hate flying_ so much.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Okay. Um… So we’re about to start losing air.”

Just as he says it, the jet dips. Bucky’s stomach lurches, and he shuts his eyes tight, gripping his seatbelt to make sure it’s actually strapped this time. He hates this, hates it so much.

“Buck–” Sam’s hand on his shoulder startles him. “We can’t stay in here. The impact, it’ll–”

A million things cross Bucky’s mind all at once, but Sam’s meaning rings all too clear in his ears.

“No! No, I’m not fucking _jumping._ Are you insane?”

Sam reaches to undo the seatbelt, but Bucky grabs his wrist before he can. He winces, and Bucky realizes he’s grabbed Sam with his left hand. He rears back quickly. Jesus Christ, he’s _shaking_.

“Sorry. I just–” He watches the ground approaching, dumbfounded at the fact that this is actually happening. “I can’t, Sam.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam says. All the joking and amusement from earlier is gone, and his voice has gone soft despite his panic. “I got you, okay? But we can’t stay here.”

Bucky is completely frozen in place, but he manages to nod, and doesn’t interfere when Sam undoes his seatbelt. Sam quickly and efficiently straps a parachute around his shoulders and walks him backwards toward the door of the quinjet. 

“Keep your eyes on me.”

Sam hits the button to open the door, and Bucky feels the wind behind him, aggressive and deafening and roughly making a mess of his hair. Just the feel of it makes his stomach drop all over again, but Sam’s there, putting Bucky’s arm behind his neck and not complaining when Bucky holds on, vice-tight. Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut again and he shoves his face into Sam’s kevlar. 

“Alright,” and Bucky can’t see him but he just _knows_ that smirk is back, “Don’t look down.”

“I hate you.”

Bucky recalls intimately the feeling of being in freefall with nothing to cling to. But this time, with his arms around Sam and the kick of Sam’s wings catching them midair, he feels less like he’s going to die and more like he’s going to _live_. He opens his eyes just in time to see the quinjet crash to earth with an almighty explosion. He feels the heat of it on his face, and closes his eyes again. 

And then their feet touch the ground, and they’re fine. Better than they would’ve been if they had stayed in the jet. 

Bucky collapses to the ground, his legs giving out beneath him.

“You okay?”

When Bucky looks up, Sam’s crouched beside him, looking more worried than Bucky’s ever seen him and it’s directed at _him_. It’s a little funny, so out of place, but Bucky knows that if their positions were reversed he’d be just as worried. They’re funny like that, acting like they hate each other but knowing that their relationship is irreplaceable. 

“I’m sorry. There really wasn’t anything I could’ve done. They must’ve planted an explosive and then split.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m not dead in a smoldering heap of quinjet thanks to you.”

“Yeah that’d be a real shame.” Sam smiles, reaching his hand out for Bucky to take. “Thanks for trusting me.” When Bucky takes his offer, he pulls him gingerly to his feet. “You may be a pain in my ass but I like you better alive.”

“Aw, you like me?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, dumbass. I like you just fine, alright? Now let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah…” Bucky looks around. “Where the fuck are we anyway?”

Once they start laughing, Bucky finds it almost impossible to stop.


End file.
